The Front Door
by DjDangerLove
Summary: Batman charges into Gotham. Bruce Wayne knocks on his own front door. A Bruce and Alfred family one-shot.


**Thoughts and Prayers to those in Aurora. **

**This is my first Batman story, but I hope you enjoy this one-shot regardless. **

* * *

He stumbled through the front landscape of the Wayne manor, his battered feet wanting nothing more than to ghost across the familiar grass that has always kept the fire of Gotham from licking his heels any further. However, it seemed like the weight set upon his shoulders denied that grace and his torn flesh and battered bones sank heavily into the finely manicured lawn.

He kept heading for the front door, his only desired destination. With his back facing Gotham as he retreated to the only thing close to a haven in his world, he could feel the heat of the allegorical flames as they swelled in the city. It warmed him like a fireplace warms one's bones during the winter months. Eventually one becomes to hot and has to move away. Bruce Wayne, no matter how dominate, how dapper, how durable he appears to the people of Gotham, he, too, has to step away from the flames.

He is even farther from the flames, closer to the door, but the heat on his back sinks through the torn material of his shirt, through his thick skin and coils in his heart until he decides to return to the flames once more. The heat makes sure Gotham still burns in his greatest desires.

He reaches the front steps, with uneven footfalls appearing much like a drunkard except without the loss of control over his mind. He stumbles up them, the loose stones and pebbles being much harsher to his battered feet and worn body altogether than the grass had been. It didn't matter. If anyone knew how hard things became the closer you got to something you desperately wanted, it was Bruce Wayne. He gritted his teeth as dark crimson traced his steps to the giant front doors, his breath coming in short gasps.

It wasn't until the tattered skin of his palms met the cold surface of the front door to the manor that his breaths became somewhat normal, somewhat steady despite the erratic pulse of Gotham swimming in his chest. Too weary to make a fist, too unwilling to ask his muscles and bones for anything more, he slapped a hand against the door and let his forehead rest against the cool surface of it, letting it herd the heat of Gotham to its usual place.

He heard the familiar sound of footsteps on the other side of the door and unable to demand anymore from himself, he sank down to the ground with one long exhale of breath swirling with relief. He reveled in the cold jumping off the door and diving into his skin, barely aware of the opposite door, the one he wasn't leaning against, opening. That was, until the voice came.

"Master Wayne."

Alfred's voice diminished the flames and the heat enough for Bruce to roll his head against the door to look up at the butler. The man's face wrinkled into a characteristic look of worry, the lines in his face exaggerating it just a hint due to overuse. Bruce watched Alfred's eyes trace the damage for a few moments, before the older man's hands, hands that would brush away any ashes from Gotham, were cautiously gliding over him, before aiding him in the simple, yet what was now the grueling task of standing up.

"I wait for the day you simply open the door for yourself, Master Wayne. Not because I don't want to be the one opening it for you, but because I always fear what I will find on the other side."

A small, shaky laugh traced with a groan escaped Bruce while patently trusted hands guided him through the house to the bookcase and piano. "Don't...get me a key..just yet... Alfred." He stumbled as his legs began to fail him. He caught himself on the back of an armchair, Alfred's hands with him the entire time.

The worry lines on the butler's face became a bit deeper, before the corner of his mouth rose just a hair. "I won't Master Wayne, but I'll wait as long as I have to for that day to come."

Companionable silence fell between them as understanding was exchanged, only the notes of the piano broke the silence. It wasn't until Bruce was lying down and being cared for by diligent hands, that he himself broke the silence. "What if that day never comes, Alfred?"

The older man paused his movements as if giving it a real thought before shrugging as if it wasn't a big deal and putting on a humorous smirk. "I can always have the doors removed, Master Wayne."

Bruce grimaced as he felt the all too familiar needle and thread begin weaving his torn flesh. He closed his eyes against the pain, feeling the heat of the city's need still puddling in his chest. He opened his eyes and stared at Alfred leaning over him, working tirelessly to heal him. If the older man noticed his staring, he didn't acknowledge it. Not then, and never before. He probably never would.

He closed his eyes again, this time with ease.

Batman charges into Gotham. Bruce Wayne knocks on his own front door, because Alfred greets him in a way that Gotham City never will.

* * *

**Thanks for reading and feel free to share your thoughts!**


End file.
